In Sanity
by gabester
Summary: Sam, dazed and confused, wakes up to find himself in a mental hospital. But Dean is the one who put him there. One shot. No slash. Based on a Tumblr photoset. Post Season 5.


This wasn't right.

Something was off.

Sam shifted in his bed uncomfortably, having slept in an awkward position throughout the night, aches shooting painfully up his spine. . Struggling to sit up, he wearily began to open his eyes, pausing momentarily to rub away the collected crust gathered in his lids.

White. Bright, stark white everywhere, overcoming his vision and causing him to flinch, instinctively squinting his eyes.

Blinking rapidly against the sudden burn of the onslaught of light seeping into his pupils, Sam saw a vague shape move out of the corner of his eye. As everything began to come into focus, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion as he recognized his brother standing up from a chair. A chair angled purposely so that it was facing his bed.

His hospital bed.

Now fully awake, Sam scrambled in his sheets, staring disbelievingly at Dean as he managed to pull the covers off, standing up, and hesitating briefly before enveloping him in a tight hug. He felt his brother reluctantly hug back, stiff and awkward in his arms. Dean cleared his throat, obviously pained.

"Um, Sam..." The tone in his voice sounded... off.

Sam released his grip on his brother, but kept his hands on Dean's shoulders, looking into his eyes, worry deeply embedded into his expression. "Dean... Dean, where am I?" He glanced nervously around the room, pupils flickering.

Dean looked anywhere but back into his brother's eyes, studying the wall. "You should get back in bed, Sammy, you're still not well." He awkwardly patted him in the arm a few times, letting him know that everything was okay.

Sam just stared dumbly at the receding hand, then back at his brother in utter confusion. His mind was blank, unable to remember why he would even _need_ to be in a hospital, to comprehend his brother's frustratingly _peculiar_ behavior, thoughts clawing wildly at his brain, desperate to receive answers.

And then it hit him.

The rings. The devil. The Pit. _The Cage_.

Throat suddenly dry, he slowly shuffled his feet back to the bed, obeying his brother's orders by getting back underneath the sheets. Looking his brother directly in the eye, gaze unwavering, Sam whispered numbly, tone rough and harsh but also weak, quiet, accusation filling up his voice.

"What did you do to bring me back?"

Expecting a nervous Dean to simply lick his lips and lie straight to his face, Sam was disturbed by the current look of total _confusion_ that was plastered onto his brother's face. His uncomfortableness soon evolved into pure panic as Dean's expression turned exasperated - patient even. What was he missing?

"What, so no crossroad deal this time? No demons?" Sam joked lightly, trying to lessen the tension. Invisible ropes were slowly beginning to tighten around his lungs, weaving and coiling around them, crushing them, and suffocating him. The blood roared in his ears, his heart beating furiously.

Dean just shook his head sadly at his lost brother. "Dude, you were only in a car crash. Fortunately, you managed to walk away with nothing 'cept a few scratches, but..." His voice trailed off uncertainly. Clearing his throat again, and avoiding his gaze, he said, "But me and Bobby decided it would be best if we... if we dropped you off at a, uh, mental hospital."

Sam's eyes widened in surprise. _A mental hospital? _

Hiding his shock, he decided to play it cool, forcing himself to chuckle lightly. "What, another wraith, then?" He gave Dean a grin, wishing he would stop looking so damn _sad_ and freaking _calm_. The expression on Dean's face echoed that of a psychiatrist who had just been told by his patient that he possessed ten heads - frustratingly patient with fake smiles plastered on his face, talking to him as if he was from another country.

"Uh, yeah, sure there's a wraith," Dean said slowly, his best poker face on. Sam could see right through it. "But it's gone now so you just sit tight and relax, Sammy."

Suspicion clouded his vision, everything feeling wrong and weird, and Dean - this couldn't possibly be _his_ Dean, the Dean who he had traveled cross country with for his entire life - it was impossible. There was more to this than he was letting on, bothering Sam even more. Did he not trust him anymore? How long was he in Hell, fire burning, eating away at his flesh, indescribable pain coursing through his body, laughter echoing in his ears?

What happened to the big brother who would reassuringly say, "It's okay, Sammy," even when it wasn't, when _Sam_ was the one who was responsible for breaking him?

He hesitated. "Dean, why am I really here?" When he received no answer, he said, more forcefully, "Dean, why did you put me in here?"

"Because you need help," Dean answered, his voice harsh. Sam realized with a start just how _broken_ Dean looked. There were bags underneath his eyes, the hair on his face uneven and clearly unshaven, and his hair stuck out at sporadic angles, yet he still tried _so damn hard_ to just stay strong for his little brother, his Sammy. That, at least, was familiar.

Staring at nothing, he repeated it, softly, voice cracking slightly.

"Because you need help, Sam."

Shock pulsed through his entire body, disbelief crowding his features, throat dried up and lips suddenly chapped. "But I'm not insane," he said, licking his lips, completely sure that his _brother_ was the insane one here.

"Sam, you think we hunt monsters. You think that we're friends with an angel, that we saved the world!" His face was flushed red, desperation seeping into his words, arms gesturing wildly and trying to get through to Sam. His words came at him with so much force that he gasped, choking on air, coughing.

Then Dean stood still, hands clenched into fists, his voice turning bitter. "Well, I've got news for you, Sam. We haven't been to Hell and back; we don't _save_ people." He said it with as much force as the other dozens of times he has had to say it, beyond used to the routine but still unable to keep the tears from collecting in his eyes.

"I'm a mechanic, and you're a lawyer," he said, forcefully, voice gradually becoming softer until it was nothing more than a whisper.

"We are nothing special."

* * *

**Tumblr post: **** post/36372436602**


End file.
